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I cluck my tongue, keeping my eyes on her face instead of her chest. But with her arms crossed like that, she’s not helping me. “Would you really want me to make this a habit?” I ask her, not realizing how much I actually care what her answer is until silence is all I’m given.
I already know the answer; I shouldn’t have asked the question.
“What do you want from me, Sebastian? It wasn’t to ask if I’d heard about some asshole getting mugged.”
“It was.” I wouldn’t have come to see her if I didn’t think I really had to be here. I don’t like what she does to me. How she takes over every sense of reason and consumes my thoughts long after we’ve parted ways.
“The cops are going to question you about his death. I need you to tell them you don’t want to talk about it. Because otherwise, you’ll look guilty.” The microwave goes off and I go back to making her tea when she starts to answer me.
“I didn’t do it. I--”
“I know you didn’t. But you look like you’re lying when anyone brings up anything that has to do with your mother. Which is why it could be pinned on you.”
With the bag of tea steeping, I stiffen at my own words. A sick feeling stirs in the pit of my stomach. I know what it’s like when someone brings up shit you don’t want to hear. How all of a sudden, you feel a coldness and pain all over like it’s taken over everything inside of you.
I reach for the sugar on the counter and stir some into her tea. She doesn’t object or ask how I knew she would want it. The spoon clinks gently against the ceramic and Chloe still hasn’t responded, but when I turn to her, her eyes are glossy with unshed tears. I feel like a prick.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with that,” she says, although she barely gets out the words.
“That’s not what the police think. Two bodies were found right after they caught the guy who killed your mom. You don’t need to watch the news to know what the cops are thinking.”
She starts to object, but I stop her and say, “Just tell me you won’t talk to them.” Grabbing the vial, I put three drops in her tea, making sure she’s watching me, then set it next to the sugar.
“What could I possibly tell them?” Her tone is as tired as she looks, and she doesn’t hide the pain that lingers beneath her words. “I don’t know anything.”
“They’re looking for someone to blame. I don’t want you to give them a reason to think that someone could be you.” I know they tossed her name around as a possible suspect. She has motive, and emotions are raw for her. They want the case closed, and she’s an easy target.
My throat feels tight although the words come out steady as I tell her, “If they come around, I need you to tell them you don’t know anything, and you don’t want to talk to them. That’s it.”
I hand her the mug I’ve prepared for her, my palm hot as I rotate it so she can grab it by the handle. “It doesn’t matter how they’ll push you for more or what they say. They want you to talk, and you’re not going to. All you’re going to tell them is that you don’t know anything, and you don’t have anything to say, right?” I ask her, and she nods obediently and with an understanding that supplants the sadness. The cops here are crooked and covering for whoever lines their pockets. Anyone can take the fall, and they’d be perfectly all right with that.
She takes the mug with both hands, letting her fingers brush against mine. The small bit of contact sends electric waves up my arms and shoulders, igniting every nerve ending and putting me on edge. So much so, that my body begs me to either step away or grab her wrist. But I do what I’ve always done. I resist. I let myself feel the discomfort of not having her but being so close that I could easily have her if I just gave in.
She’s closer now, taking a half step toward me, her head at my chest and her gaze on the floor as she blows across the top of the hot cup of tea.
“I understand,” she tells me, her lips close to the edge of the mug, but she doesn’t drink it yet.
I reach over, one hand on either side of her head, and brush back her hair. She stares up at me with a longing I remember so well. A longing I’ve dreamed of for so many nights. The air is pulled from my lungs as I stare into her eyes. “Drink your tea and go to bed, Chloe.” My words are rough, and it’s hard to swallow. The moment her baby blues close with her nod, I get the fuck out of there before I do anything stupid. Anything that would put her in even more danger.
CHLOE
I’ll never forget her screams.
The second I hear the front door open as Sebastian leaves, it’s all I can think about.
As I set down my tea on the kitchen table, not even Sebastian’s lingering heat and scent can provide an adequate distraction. No, the moment he brought up my mother, I knew the memories would come back and they wouldn’t leave.
Sebastian never stays for long. Never. No matter how much I wish he would.
Closing my eyes and gripping the edge of the chair, I take in a deep breath. I know I need to lock the door, but I’m desperately trying to calm and steady myself.
At war with the memories of that night my mother died are the thoughts of Sebastian having been in my house just now.
He was here for business. But whatever the reason, he doesn’t want me to say anything, and so I won’t. I don’t have anything to say to the cops regardless, but I am emotional, and I could see myself spewing all sorts of hate for the dead man whose murder could easily be pinned on me.
Whatever Sebastian is involved with, and whatever his intention is behind telling me to keep my mouth shut, I’m grateful for it.
This addition to my tea, however, I don’t know what to think about that. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t believe him when he said it’s something I could get at the drugstore. I may be attracted to him for some unknown reason, but I’m not fucking stupid. The thought resonates with me as I turn the locks on the front door.
